The Granger Relation - Birthday Presents
by Ebenbild
Summary: Hermione has an odd family. Maybe it shouldn't be a surprise that her birthday presents are a bit more unusual than others - or who else gets a new relative each year? Prequel to "Confession time" and "Family Oddness".
1. Seventh Birthday

_**Disclaimer**_ _: Sadly, neither Sherlock nor Harry Potter are mine. I just took their characters and played with them a bit_

 _ **Placing:**_ _Before the books. Hermione's seventh birthday_

 ** _Crossover with the "Sherlock"-Series_**

 _Challenge: 'Prompt of the day'._ Prompt (dialogue): "When people get too chummy with me, I like to call them by the wrong name to let them know I don't really care about them." _1035_ _words_ _._ _Gryffindor_ _,_ _Hogwarts_ _._

xXxXxXxXxXxStarxXxXxXxNamexXxXxXxXxNamexXxXxXxXxStarxXxXxXxXxXxXx

sSsSsSsSs

 _ **SHERLOCK**_

sSs

"I… I'm actally not too sure if I should think of this as endearing or disturbing," Brandton Granger said slowly while looking around the corner into the living room.

Hermione's mother Jane raised an eyebrow at him, clearly unhappy with his statement.

Brandton huffed and shrugged with an apologizing look on his face.

"It's not that I think it isn't great and all that," he defended himself. "It's just that I'm not too sure if I'm ready for the consequences, you know?"

Jane raised an eyebrow.

"You're acting as if my son is currently raising the next super-villain," she stated unimpressed.

Brandton blinked, then turned to look back into the living room, now with actual unhidden concern on his face.

"You think so?" He asked nervously.

"Of course not!" Jane said amused. "My son would never try and raise a super-villain."

Brandton looked a bit disbelieving at his wife.

"He keeps human appendages in his fridge," he pointed out logically.

Jane huffed.

"Everybody needs a hobby," she said, sounding a little bit annoyed. "That doesn't mean that he would raise his little sister as a super-villain!"

Brandton looked at his wife a bit incredulously.

"His birthday present was a book called ' _Dark Justice: The History of Punishment and Torture'_ , Jane!" He exclaimed.

Jane looked at him as if she didn't see the problem.

"So what?" she asked. "He knows that she likes to read – what else is there?"

Brandton spluttered.

"Don't you think that that book isn't… age-appropriate for a barely seven-year-old?" He asked a bit concerned.

Jane thought that over.

"If you want to, I will talk with him about it, Brandton," she conceded. "You might be right. He should have waited with that book a year or two longer to give Hermione a chance to improve on her reading-levels first."

Brandton sighed.

"Not what I meant, dear," he said before looking back into the room.

He frowned again.

"I'm still not sure if I should be wary or think of it as cute," he decided.

Jane raised an eyebrow and followed his gaze.

"Well, I for my part think it's cute," she said. "Sherlock makes a very good older brother, don't you think so, too?"

Brandton frowned.

"I'm still a bit too concerned about the consequences of this to think of it as 'cute', I think," he decided unhappily.

Jane raised an eyebrow.

"So you truly think that Sherlock is trying to raise his little sister as a super-villain?" She asked and a dangerous note could be heard in her voice while saying that.

Brandton's eyes widened and he shook his head.

"No!" He said. "I'm just afraid how this and his present will influence our baby girl!"

He raised his hands.

"It's not that I think that Sherlock has bad intentions and all that," he defended himself. "I just fear that his advice will be less… helpful for Hermione considering the issues she already has in school with the other children!"

When Jane's eyes narrowed further, he looked at his wife apologetic.

"Sherlock is a good boy," he said. "I just think that some of his advice should be taken with a grain of salt – and Hermione is not yet old enough to do so!"

His wife's face turned thoughtful.

"I guess you might be right," she said. "His advice on milk and how to use or not use it definitely went a bit too far for a seven-year-old to understand."

Brandton snorted.

"That, too," he said. "But I'm more concerned about the behavioural advice he's giving her."

Jane raised an eyebrow in inquiry.

But before Brandton could say anything else, Sherlock's voice could be heard from inside the room.

Jane's third-born was currently walking up and down the living room, his arms flying around while he lectured the little girl who was sitting on the floor, looking at him in awe. Her huge, brown and innocent eyes following his every move and her brain clearly memorizing every word he said.

"You should know, my darling sister, that people are idiots," Sherlock lectured. "They are far too slow to understand the ingenuity it needs to understand the hidden aspects of crime. All they have is their usual behavioural pattern – no ingenuity there at all. That's also the reason why even idiots can manage the job of a police officer… not that you would want to be one! Crime, real crime, is something you don't stumble upon in a police officer's day to day lives! If the police would really consist of smart people, they would die of boredom long before a suitable crime would come around the corner!"

Hermione nodded, her face set in her version of a serious thinking face.

"But why aren't there more smart criminals out there?" She asked curiously.

Sherlock's face turned sour.

"That, my dear little sister, is the mystery of the universe," he declared.

Hermione nodded again.

"But don't worry, little sister!" Sherlock exclaimed. "Like that I'm at least not forced into the presence of those idiotic police officers every day. They can get way to… _chummy_."

He made a face at that and Hermione perked up.

"Chummy?" She asked confused.

Sherlock nodded seriously.

"They will follow you around and won't stop talking to you," he explained unhappily. "And then they'll go and try to tell you what you're allowed and not allowed to do. It's very, _very_ bothersome!"

Hermione thought about that.

"Are they touching you and calling you names as well?" She wanted to know thoughtfully.

Sherlock nodded unhappily.

"Yes," he said, clearly not impressed. "That, too – all the time!"

Hermione frowned.

"Some people in my class do the same," she said unhappily. "How do I get them to stop?"

Sherlock shrugged.

"Who knows," he said. "When people get too chummy with me, I like to call them by the wrong name to let them know I don't really care about them."

"There!" Brandton said unhappily. "That's what I'm afraid off!"

Jane just looked at him, incomprehension in her face.

"I think it was quite a valuable advice," she said. "I fear I don't understand what is bothering you…"

Brandton sighed.

Sometimes he wished that his wife's sons hadn't inherited their difference in social behaviour from their mother...

xXxXxXxXxXxStarxXxXxXxNamexXxXxXxXxNamexXxXxXxXxStarxXxXxXxXxXxXx

 _That'_ _s_ _it_ _for_ _now._

 _How_ _did_ _you_ _like_ _my_ _Sherlock_ _?_

 _Ebenbild_


	2. Sixth Birthday

_**Disclaimer**_ _: Neither "The Avengers" or Harry Potter are mine – sadly._

 _ **Placing:**_ _Before Hogwarts, Hermione's sixth birthday_

 _ **Information:**_ _Sometime in the future I'll rearrange those one-shots into the proper order, one birthday after the other – until then I'll simply poste whatever birthday I'm interested in writing next, sorry._

 _ **Cross-over with "The Avengers"-Series.**_

xXxXxXxXxXxStarxXxXxXxNamexXxXxXxXxNamexXxXxXxXxStarxXxXxXxXxXxXx

sSsSsSsSs

 _ **AUNT EMMA**_

sSs

"Your wrist is a bit too stiff, sweetie," a voice greeted Jane Granger in the hallway when she finally returned from the practice.

"Like that, Aunt Emma?" Was the answer to the voice Jane heard from the living room.

"Exactly," the voice said and Jane wondered since when her sister was playing babysitter for her daughter.

A minute later all the wonder about when Emma had arrived went out of the window.

"Emma!" Jane Granger exclaimed shocked before fury took over. "How dare you to gift something like that to your barely six-year-old niece!"

The woman in question didn't seem fathomed at all by her fury.

"Sweet, isn't it, dear sister?" She said while looking adoringly at her barely six-year-old niece. "And I was just in time for her birthday, too!"

"Emma!" Jane said furiously. "A _catsuit_? A _leather_ catsuit?! Hermione is _**six**_!"

"Exactly," Emma said unperturbed. "She has to learn how to wear one some time!"

"She's _six_!"

Emma shrugged.

"Better sooner than later," she said.

" _No_!" Jane objected heatedly. "My six-year-old daughter will not run around in a _leather catsuit_!"

"But doesn't she look cute in one?" Emma asked innocently and Jane took another look at her daughter.

Said daughter looked at her with innocent, huge, brown, puppy-dog eyes.

For a moment, Jane felt herself melting at the gaze of her daughter.

Then her own gaze found the black leather suit Hermione was currently wearing and she frowned and turned back to the miscreant of that particular… clothing.

"No," she said coolly. "My daughter won't run around in a leather catsuit!"

Hermione pouted.

Emma looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

"It's protective," she pointed out to her sister.

Jane's eyes narrowed.

"And pray tell, what does Hermione – your _**six-**_ year-old niece – need protection for? Her Teddy bear?!"

Emma shrugged.

"One might never know if it wasn't a robot in disguise," she pointed out logically.

Jane's eyes just narrowed further.

" _No_ ," she said. "No leather catsuit until Hermione is at least ten!"

This time her sister did the pouting.

"But Janey, my dear," she said. "Steed told me that every girl looks nice in leather – and I wanted my adorable niece look nice in her new catsuit!"

"No leather, Emma Samantha Knight!" Jane Granger said unregenerately.

Emma sighed.

"It's Emma Samantha _**Peel**_ – like you well know, sister mine!" She corrected Jane.

Jane rolled her eyes.

"Doesn't matter," she said. "Peel – Knight, married name – maiden name, _whatever_. Fact is: _No leather_ for your barely six-year-old niece!"

Her sister pouted.

"But I needed a birthday present for my little adorable niece," she said. "And I couldn't find the right high-heels so I thought the leather suit without them would be the next best thing."

Jane just raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

"You could have come without the leather suit as a present as well," she pointed out. "It's not as if it was your only present for Hermione."

With that she looked pointedly at the other things Emma had brought.

Emma just shrugged, incorrigible.

"I needed more than one present," she pointed out. "After all, I wasn't there for Hermione's last five birthdays."

Jane raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

"And whose fault is that?" She asked. "I, for my part, remember quite clearly the call I made just hours after Hermione was born to tell my little sister that she has a niece."

Emma waved it off.

"That was at the time I just started to work with Steed," she said unimpressed. "It wasn't long after my husband Peter went missing – so of course I had no time to come by and see her!"

Jane raised an eyebrow at her sister.

"And the rest of the years?" She asked.

Emma thought that over.

"I think there was a town of missing people, some cyborgs and some other things involved that made me miss them," she said thoughtfully. "If there weren't, I definitely would have come by earlier."

"Of course you would have," Jane said sighing, then her eyes fell back on Hermione's attire. "Still – no leather suit for your niece until she's at least ten!"

Emma frowned at her.

"But I bought it already," she pointed out to her sister unhappily. "It would be a waste to not wear it now that it's there!"

That brought Jane up short, because – of course – her sister was right about that.

Before she could think about it further, the door opened and Brandton walked in.

"Well, dear," he said. "Have you ensured that Hermione is ready so that we can go to the cine-"

He stopped mid-sentence and stared at the scene in front of him.

"Dear," he finally said slowly. "Why does Hermione have a rapier in her hands?"

That startled Jane out of her thought process.

"Oh," she said, waving it off airily. "Emma gifted it to her. She's been teaching Hermione how to use it as well – isn't it sweet, darling?"

Brandton looked at the rapier in his daughter's hands a bit nervously.

"The rapier looks… real, Jane," he pointed out a bit nervously.

Jane just frowned and raised an eyebrow at him.

"Of course it's real, darling," she said. "What else should it be?"

Brandton frowned.

"Er… a toy?" He asked nervously. "Hermione's _six_ after all…"

"As if she could properly learn how to fence with a toy, Brandton," Jane said reasonably. "No, my dear sister had the right approach in that one. If Hermione learns how to fence, she will learn it with a real rapier!"

Then her eyes fell back on the catsuit her daughter was wearing.

"But she won't learn it in a leather catsuit!" She said determined.

"It's already bought, sister mine," Emma pointed out reasonably.

Jane groaned.

Sometimes she wished her sister was less reasonable…

"Alright," she said unhappily. "She can keep this suit – but her next one won't be until she's at least ten!"

Emma nodded.

"Deal," she said.

In that moment the TV in the corner of the living room turned on to display a man with a bowler.

"Mrs. Peel," he said. "We're needed."

"Seems I have to go, sister mine," Emma said and then proceeded to hug her sister and niece goodbye, shook her stunned brother-in-law's hand and left.

"But…" Brandton said slowly. "Is nobody in this household bothered by the fact that our _**six-**_ year-old daughter is running around with a _ **real**_ weapon?!"

Regretfully, he never got an answer to that particular question…

xXxXxXxXxXxStarxXxXxXxNamexXxXxXxXxNamexXxXxXxXxStarxXxXxXxXxXxXx

 _I never wrote Mrs. Emma Peel before. I just hope I didn't butcher her up too much…_

 _That'_ _s_ _it_ _for_ _now._

 _Ebenbild_

 _PS:_

 ** _Dear Nanchih!_**

 _I hope you finally found the one person you were hoping for - and the reason why she isn't a sister. Sorry, but I could never see her as a sister to Hermione - an awesome aunt, on the other hand... xDDD_

 _I hope you liked my Emma Peel._

 _Ebenbild_


	3. Fourth Birthday

_**Disclaimer**_ _: Neither the Avenger Movies nor HP are mine, sadly…_

 _ **Placing:**_ _Before Hogwarts._

 _Challenge: 'Prompt of the day'._ Prompt (dialogue): "I'm sorry, do I know you?" _1365_ _words_ _._ _Gryffindor_ _,_ _Hogwarts_ _._

xXxXxXxXxXxStarxXxXxXxNamexXxXxXxXxNamexXxXxXxXxStarxXxXxXxXxXxXx

sSsSsSsSs

 _ **TONY**_

sSs

"I'm sorry, do I know you?"

The little girl looked at him with huge eyes.

She couldn't be older than four – and if the information he had to go by, she had turned four just today.

"I'm 'Mione!" She exclaimed.

He frowned at her.

"Aren't you a bit young to open the door by yourself?" He had read somewhere that children that age shouldn't be left alone, or some such.

The little girl shrugged.

"The nanny was 'fraid of Teddy," she said. "She gone."

"Oh," he said, unsure how to react. "I guess that Mommy and Daddy are working as well?"

The little girl nodded and he resolved to call Jane Granger immediately.

"J," he said. "Please…"

"Are you here to bake biscuiz with me?" The little girl asked innocently and he stopped in his inquiry.

Luckly enough, he didn't have to end his sentence to get his wish anyway, so he just concentrated on the girl in front of him.

"What am I going to do with a four-year-old?" He asked himself, a tiny bit on the way to a full-blown panic attack.

"Bake biscuiz!" The girl said and he focused on her.

"Is that what you do with four-year-olds?" He asked.

She nodded hard enough that her whole upper body seemed to nod as well.

He blinked and thought it over. Then he shrugged. It was not as if he had another source to tell him what to do with a four-year-old.

"Well, then…" he said and entered the house. "Let's see if I manage to bake anything eatable…"

Two hours later, Brandton came home from work to a sight he definitely hadn't expected.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" He asked confused.

Maybe, Brandton figured, this was not the most intelligent way to start a conversation with the obviously slightly deranged man in his kitchen – especially when said deranged man was holding Brandton's baby daughter hostage.

The man turned and blinked at Brandton with a look of confusion on his face. Then he squinted his eyes at Brandton and his glare intensified.

Brandton wondered if the prescription of the young man was still up-to-date.

The man's eyebrows furrowed.

"You're that Bradley guy, aren't you?" He asked before turning away from Brandton to look at the screen he was working on, Hermione in his other hand, tucked below his amprit like a rugby-ball.

Hermione, oddly enough didn't seem to mind.

Instead she grinned at her father before her eyes turned back to the man who held her hostage.

"Dada home," she exclaimed. "Too-y take me to Dada?"

The man in question send her an absent look before turning back to the electronic device he was working on.

"Hold still, pipsqueak," he said while using his free hand – the electronic device was sitting on the table – to add something inside the device.

Hermione settled back against his side, seemingly not at all bothered by the man's unusual hold on her.

"Too-y makes chocolate biscuiz now?" Hermione asked instead interested.

The man's frown deepened.

"I've still not worked out the exact amount of flour for the perfect biscuits, pipsqueak," he said and Brandton stared at the guy.

For a moment, he contemplated calling the police, then he sighed and dismissed the thought. He might not know the man, but calling the police and finding out they were somehow related would be embarrassing – and calling the police while his daughter being held hostage definitely wasn't a good idea if he wanted his daughter to be healthy if the man wasn't related to them somehow…

In the end, Brandton decided to go with the obvious route.

"My name is Brandton," he corrected the other man. "And who are you?"

Brandton still couldn't shake the feeling that he should know the man from somewhere…

Then another important thought entered his mind.

"And where's the nanny?"

The man looked up again at that and frowned at Brandton.

"Don't know, don't care," he said, oddly disinterested before frowning at Hermione who was still hanging loosely in his grip.

"The pipsqueak opened the door," he added as if it was a natural thing for a barely four-year-old to open doors and be alone at home.

"Oh," Brandton said slowly, then he looked at Hermione frowning. "Hermione, where's your nanny?"

Hermione pouted.

"Gone," she said unhappily. "She didn't like Teddy flying, Dada."

Brandton blinked in confusion.

"Teddy flying?" He repeated frowning and Hermione nodded hard enough that her entire body shook in the stranger's hold.

Said stranger frowned at her.

"Keep still, pipsqueak," he said. "I've still no idea what to do with you."

That, Brandton concluded, sounded somehow… odd.

"Do… with her?" He asked slowly and the stranger looked up with a frown.

"Mummy said to not leave her out of my eyes until she comes home," he explained unhappily. "It's damn hard to do so considering the pipsqueak wanted to run everywhere in the house but stay here with me!"

"Oh," Brandton said and relaxed. Obviously, at least his wife knew about the stranger in their kitchen.

Then something else the stranger said registered.

"Mummy?!" He exclaimed.

The man blinked and looked up from his work.

"Yeah," he said. "Mummy, as in Jane Granger, former Holmes, née Knight?"

Brandton stared at the man and then rubbed his nose bridge.

"Oh," he said before frowning. "So – which one are you? You're not Sherrinford, I met him already so Sherlo…"

It was then that Brandton finally registered who exactly was standing in his kitchen.

"Holy sh…rimp! You're Tony Stark!"

Said man looked at him as if Brandton was the mad one in the room.

"Of course I'm Tony Stark," he said as if it was a matter of fact.

"Too-y!" Hermione piped up from beneath his amprit.

Tony stared at the little girl with a frown before turning back to the Stark-Pat he was using.

"Soon, pipsqueak," he said to her while Brandton absorbed the fact that Tony Stark was obviously one of his wife's grown up children.

"How… can you be Jane's child?" He finally settled on slowly. "I mean… your parents, Howard and Maria Stark…"

He trailed off, unsure how to continue.

Tony looked at him in amusement.

"Mother – I mean Maria – was barren," he said. "She asked Mummy to surrogate for her and Howard. Mummy agreed, considering that she was Mother's sister and loved her very much."

"Oh," Brandton said, thinking that he should have figured that Maria Stark was born a Knight. "Alright."

Tony waved it off with his free hand, tightening his grip with his other when Hermione mirrored him.

"Don't worry 'bout it, Bradley," he said. "I was aware of it since I was little. I even came by a few weeks in the summer so that I could play with my brothers."

"It's Brandton," Brandton corrected again with a sigh.

Tony just shrugged before turning back to his work. A minute later, he turned to Hermione.

"So…" He said slowly. "I think I've found the correct amount of flour. Seems we can start baking now, pipsqueak."

Brandton blinked.

"You're baking – with my daughter," he said slowly.

Tony stared at him unhappily.

"That's what Hermione said someone does with a four-year-old," he said while frowning at Brandton. "It's not as if I could ask someone else when I came here, Bradley…"

Considering that the nanny had obviously fled the house without telling either Brandton or his wife, Brandton guessed that Tony Stark had a point…

"It's Brandton, Tony," He corrected again. "Or Daddy, if you want to."

The answer was a surprised look from the genius.

"Daddy," he repeated, then he shrugged. "Whatever."

Brandton shook his head and decided to leave his wife's genius, billionaire son with his daughter in the kitchen.

Obviously, those two planned to bond over baking…

"As long as he doesn't endanger Hermione," Brandton said to himself and left with a headshake.

At the end of the day, the Granger family had a new robotic helper in the kitchen. It wasn't good for much, but it made awesome biscuits.

Brandton guessed, he could live with a robotic help if his daughter loved it as much as she appeared to do…

xXxXxXxXxXxStarxXxXxXxNamexXxXxXxXxNamexXxXxXxXxStarxXxXxXxXxXxXx

 _I never wrote Tony Stark before. I just hope I didn't butcher him up too much…_

 _That'_ _s_ _it_ _for_ _now._

 _Ebenbild_


	4. First Birthday

_**Disclaimer**_ _: Neither the Avenger Comics nor HP are mine, sadly…_

 _ **Placing:**_ _Before Hogwarts._

 _Challenge: 'Prompt of the day'._ Prompt (action): a loved one leaving away. _1350_ _words_ _._ _Gryffindor_ _,_ _Hogwarts_ _._

 _ **Crossover with Avenger-Comic Background**_

xXxXxXxXxXxStarxXxXxXxNamexXxXxXxXxNamexXxXxXxXxStarxXxXxXxXxXxXx

sSsSsSsSs

 _ **BARNEY**_

sSs

"Father."

Brandton stopped walking and looked up from his fitfully sleeping daughter. In front of him, just a few feet away, his oldest son was standing, watching him.

His son's brown hair was unkempt and his clothing looked old and a bit rugged. Brandton hadn't seen the boy in years – yet one look at him and he recognised him instantly.

"Barney," Brandton said surprised. He had never suspected that his son might come home again. Barney had run away when Brandton and his first wife had taken a break from their marriage and he had never heard from his oldest again.

Now, seeing his son, unexplained unease settled into his stomach.

Barney on the other hand, smiled a bit shakily at his father, then his gaze fell onto the baby girl in Brandton's arms and he grimaced.

"I see you decided to have another child," he said, clearly unhappy about that and because of that half-snarling. "And not only that. You haven't just another child – you have a child with another woman!"

Brandton frowned at his oldest boy.

"You know your mother and I had out differences," he told his son slowly.

Barney snarled.

"You didn't even try to make everything alright again with Mum!" He accused his father. "You just walked away and divorced her!"

For a moment, Brandton looked sadly at his oldest child – a child he hadn't seen for six-a-half years. Then he shook his head slowly and sighed while shifting his sleeping daughter's weight in his arms.

"Barney," he said softly. "Your mother and I divorced amiably. We both knew that we couldn't continue like we had. All those arguments, all those fights – we couldn't live like that anymore. Divorcing was the best thing we could do to find some peace again. We agreed on that."

"That's what you say!" His son said unhappily. "But in reality, you didn't even try –"

"We tried," Brandton interrupted his oldest son. "We tried to sort out our marriage for years. In the end, we simply had to accept that it shouldn't be –"

"No!" Barney interjected hotly. "NO!"

Then his son's eyes narrowed at Brandton.

"You didn't try! The twins agreed with me on that!"

Hermione whimpered in Brandton's arms and he shushed her before turning back to his son and the accusations thrown at him.

"The twins were six going on seven!" Brandton objected, forcibly calm. "They were far too little –"

That's when it hit him why seeing Barney in front of him had rung alarm bells in his head.

"Barney," he said slowly, interrupting himself. "Where are the twins?"

The little ones had run away with Barney – and like with Barney, no matter where they looked, they hadn't found them again. Now Barney was back… and the twins were still nowhere in sight…

For a moment, Barney's face twisted into a grimace Brandton didn't know how to interpret. Then his oldest son shook his head.

"They didn't want to come," he told his father, his face looking like it was made of stone. "They're still angry with you and Mum."

Brandton frowned at that briefly before raising an eyebrow at his oldest child.

"And you aren't?" He asked with heavy scepticism in his voice.

Barney just stared at his father and the little girl in his father's hands, his face blank and unreadable.

"It doesn't matter, Father," he said finally. "I came."

Brandton couldn't object that logic – but he didn't have to like it either.

He shook his head slowly, but in the end nodded.

"That you did," he said, his eyes on his son's blank face. "That you did, Barney."

Barney's gaze again came to rest on the little girl in Brandton's arms.

He frowned a bit at her, but there was no visible resentment for the little girl.

"I thought you didn't want to have more children after the twins," he said, still sounding a bit unhappy.

Brandton wondered if he could gain the place where the twins hid from Barney if he made some more small-talk with his eldest.

"I didn't," he finally said truthfully. "Jane didn't as well."

Barney's eyebrows furrowed.

"Then why -?"

"She wasn't planned," Brandton answered truthfully before looking lovingly at his daughter. "But even if we didn't plan to have her, that doesn't change the fact that we love her."

Barney nodded slowly.

"I'm not happy with her mother and neither with you," he said slowly. "But that doesn't change the fact that the little girl in your arms is my sister."

And Brandton wondered if those words were something akin to a peace-treaty from his eldest.

He inclined his head, then looked searchingly at Barney.

"Do you want to hold her?"

For a moment, his son hesitated, but in the end, he nodded very, very slowly.

"May I?"

Then he reached out and took the little girl from her father's arms carefully. For a moment, the little girl's face scrunched up, then she turned and relaxed in her eldest brother's arms.

Barney looked at her with the same awe he had had in his face when he had held the twins for the first time.

"What's her name?" He whispered, his voice softening while he looked at her.

Brandton smiled at his son and his baby daughter.

"Hermione," he said, nearly as softly as his son. "Her name's Hermione Jane Granger. Today's her first birthday."

His son nodded, the awe not leaving his face. Then the young man reached out and touched his little sister's face, caressing her cheek with his thumb.

Her face scrunched up in her sleep again before she leaned into the touch.

"Her mother is that woman you –"

"Her mother is my wife," Brandton said calmly but firmly. "Jane and I married nearly two years ago."

Barney grimaced.

Then his mouth twisted into another frown.

"I still can't understand how you could cheat on Mum," he said, a softly spoken accusation in his voice.

Brandton sighed.

"I didn't cheat on her," he said. "I divorced your Mum a year after you and the twins ran away. I was already divorced when I met Jane."

Barney looked up and a bit forlornly into Brandton's eyes.

"But why did you leave Mum?" He asked as if he couldn't understand it try as he might.

Brandton sighed and shook his head.

"We simply drifted apart over time, Barney," he said tiredly. "There was nothing anybody could do about it. But just because we drifted apart, it didn't mean that we loved you less –"

Barney pressed his lips together and shook his head stubbornly.

"You should have stayed together," he said accusingly before handing sleeping Hermione back to her father. "You should have stayed together like it should be! If you had, neither I nor the twins would have run!"

Brandton frowned at Barney.

Something about how he said 'twins' had been… odd.

"Barney," he said slowly. "Where. Are. The. Twins?"

Barney just snarled at him.

"As if you care!" He said icily before pulling out a small parcel and thrusting it at Brandton.

"That's for my baby sister," he declared, still snarling.

Brandton took it with a frown.

"Where're the twins, Barney?" He asked again. "Where are your thirteen-year-old brothers?"

Barney just gestured at the parcel.

"Forget them, _Daddy_ ," he said, saying the last word mockingly. "It's not as if you'll ever see them again!"

Brandton had a very bad feeling when hearing that.

With shaking fingers he opened the parcel without setting down his daughter.

Inside was a knife – a knife with a brown, dried substance on it.

His eyes widened.

"Barney – what?!" He asked alarmed.

Barney just send him a vicious smile.

"I made sure that you can fully concentrate on your new family," he said, his smile cold and cruel. "Good-bye, _Daddy_."

With that he turned and walked away from his father.

A second later the entrance door fell closed with a bang.

Brandton stared emptily at the knife in his hands, the brown, dried substance chilling him to the bone.

Blood.

The brown substance was blood.

And Hermione cried.

xXxXxXxXxXxStarxXxXxXxNamexXxXxXxXxNamexXxXxXxXxStarxXxXxXxXxXxXx

 _Not amusing, this one. More a bit of semi-crime or some such... T.T_

 _Anyway, that was Barney Barton for you, Clint Barton/Hawkeye's fabled brother in the comics. I promise the next one will be more humorous again. I simply couldn't do it with the man who in comic-canon as well as here went against his baby brother._

 _Hope you liked it anyway, at least a bit._

 _That' s it for_ _now._

 _Ebenbild_


	5. Birth

_**Disclaimer**_ _: Neither the "Sherlock"-series nor HP are mine, sadly…_

 _ **Placing:** Hermione's birth_ _  
_

 _ **Crossover with the "Sherlock"-series**_

xXxXxXxXxXxStarxXxXxXxNamexXxXxXxXxNamexXxXxXxXxStarxXxXxXxXxXxXx

sSsSsSsSs

 _ **MYCROFT**_

sSs

Mycroft stared at the squirming bundle of joy in his hands in distaste.

The bundle was pink, tiny and wet.

Definitely wet.

Mycroft didn't even want to know how much drool was currently seeping into his Armani suit…

"Isn't she sweet?" His deluded mother asked him with stars in her eyes.

Mycroft stared at the tiny and wet, so wet, bundle in his hands and then looked up to his mother's face, not sure what to do with a mother who had suddenly lost all sense of reality.

His mother looked at him with a raised eyebrow, clearly waiting him to comment negatively.

Instead of daring to incur his mother's wrath, his eyes lowered back down towards the bundle in his arms.

Big baby blue eyes looked up at him innocently, but Mycroft wasn't fooled by them.

He had experience with innocent looks and he knew what they meant.

That thing in his arms would be trouble – spelled with a capital "T"!

"Oh, she's so sweet! I bet she will be a _lovely_ child!" His mother cooed, leaning a bit forward and sideward from her position in her bed to look at her baby daughter in her oldest son's arms.

That action just confirmed Mycroft's thought that the thing in his arms would be trouble – after all, the last time his mother had cooed at anyone, said person had grown up to be one of the greatest nuisances Mycroft had the unfortunate… _pleasure_ … to know.

Mycroft wondered idly if his mother had cooed at Sherlock and Anthony as well when they were born. In Mycroft's eyes they definitely were enough trouble on a daily basis that she had to have done it back then – evidence was the nuisance of his (former, considering that he had younger ones now) youngest brother Sherrinford whom she had cooed at definitely when he had been born!

"She's a wonder and she's so sweet!" His mother added in that moment and cooed at her daughter again.

Mycroft just stared at the bundle in his arms.

"What's… her name?" He finally forced himself to ask.

His mother smiled at him.

"Hermione," she said. "Brandton and I decided to call her Hermione Jane."

That made Mycroft look up.

"Hermione Jane and what?" He asked confused.

"And nothing," his mother smiled. "She will solely be Hermione Jane Granger."

Mycroft frowned at his mother.

"That… seems a bit short," he finally said. "We all have three first names!"

"No," his mother countered. "Just you, Anthony, Sherlock and Sherrinford. The others all only have two names. Brandton and I decided to go with his side of the family in this."

Mycroft stared at his mother.

It seemed as if something more than hormones had addled his mother's brain today. Mycroft was well aware that it had been his mother who had insisted on giving all her sons three names – so hearing that she had given in to the "tradition" of another family sounded… _odd_ for his mother.

"Mummy," Mycroft said hesitatingly. "Are you sure that you'll just want to give Hermione two names? There're some nice traditional first names you could use."

His mother raised an eyebrow.

"Like what?" She asked and Mycroft stared at the baby in his arms, trying to see her listening to any of the traditional names he knew.

"Have you thought about Nevaeh?" He proposed.

His mother hummed noncommittally.

"Or maybe Genesis?" Mycroft added thoughtfully.

This time his mother looked at the baby with a frown.

"Maybe Anthea?" Mycroft said thoughtfully.

This time his mother crooked her head to consider it. In the end she sighed and shook her head.

"Maybe you can add that name to one of her security identities you're already planning to add to the system to keep her safe," his mother said amused.

Mycroft looked up at his mother with a frown.

"Even with me only having a minor position in the government, there's still the danger of someone trying to use my family to make me comply with something," he pointed out reasonably. "Having different, unconnected identities ready for use if I have to hide her is just sensible!"

His mother smiled at him at that but didn't object, so Mycroft continued to thing about first names.

"How about Eurus?" Mycroft asked while looking at the baby seriously.

His mother's smile broadened.

"The same as the last name," she said.

Mycroft frowned at his mother.

"So… you truly want to give Hermione only two names," Mycroft finally asserted.

"Yes," his mother answered anyway. "Brandton and I spoke about it. He would have acquiesced to three names, but in the end, I decided that two were enough."

Mycroft looked at the bundle in his arms.

He frowned.

Maybe... his mother was right and the baby girl in his arms was a little too tiny for three names – even if it was weird that she would only have two first names.

"If you wish it like that," he finally said and then finally handed back the little girl to his mother. "I'll have to go. There's some important things to do to keep Hermione safe for the future."

And Mycroft would do anything to ensure that she would be safe – exactly like he did with his other siblings as well.

His mother smiled at him.

"Do what you can't stop yourself from doing," she said amused.

Mycroft nodded seriously, then he turned around and left the hospital room where his mother was still resting after birthing his baby sister just hours ago.

He closed the door and his gaze fell onto the sleeves of his Armani suit.

They were full of drool and wet.

Mycroft grimaced.

"Yes," he thought darkly. "That girl spells trouble. I guess I will have to go all out for her from the start when it comes to looking after her – exactly like I do for Sherlock."

He guessed that his mother wouldn't object to a lot more camera surveillance when it came to ensuring that her baby daughter would be kept out of trouble – after all, she also had never said something about him watching out for Sherlock or the others…

xXxXxXxXxXxStarxXxXxXxNamexXxXxXxXxNamexXxXxXxXxStarxXxXxXxXxXxXx

 _That'_ _s_ _it_ _for_ _now._

 _Ebenbild_


	6. Ninth Birthday

_**Disclaimer**_ _: Neither HP nor 'Numb3ers' are mine…_

 _ **Placing:**_ _Hermione's ninth birthday._

 _ **Crossover with the "Numb3ers"-series.**_

xXxXxXxXxXxManipulatorxXxXxXxCheatxXxXxXxXxCheatxXxXxXxXxManipulatorxXxXxXx

sSsSsSsSs

 _ **COLBY**_

sSs

There was one thing that Colby Granger hated the most: Having free time and nothing to do.

Nevertheless, even the fact that he had both right now, didn't actually explain how he ended up in the middle of Great Britain, in a suburb where nothing ever happened.

Colby Granger had actually no idea what he was doing there.

He hadn't been there in years - or even longer.

Actually, the last time he had been there was when he had been fifteen years old and had just lost his father.

It had been a trying time, back then, he had been a sullen teenage who had wanted to be anywhere but there - but now...

Colby looked at the yellow house with a picket fence.

He sighed.

Ten years.

It had been ten years since he had been here last.

He knew, theoretically, he should use his time off to visit his mother or go out with friends or-

Who was he kidding?

Colby knew for a fact that he needed to be here.

Here - not somewhere else.

For a moment, Colby took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

When he opened his eyes again, his face showed determination.

He squared his shoulders and then knocked.

For a moment, nothing was heard inside, then running from children's feet could be heard and then the door opened jerkily, revealing big brown eyes and wild locks.

"Hello," Colby said cautiously, wondering if the girl in front of him was the baby-cousin his mother had mentioned being born a year after Colby had been here.

"Hello," the girl said, watching him from the gap of the door she had opened. "Who're you?"

"I'm Colby," Colby said while frowning over her head, not having heard anything that indicated an adult present. "And I guess you're Hermione?"

"How d'you know?" Hermione asked, crooking her head to the side and opening the door a bit more.

"My Mum mentioned you a few years ago after she phoned Uncle Brandton… er… your Dad, I mean," Colby told her and wondered if she'd believe him.

The girl just looked at him, her face in a cute kind of frown.

"So," she said slowly. "You're Daddy's nephew?"

"Yes," Colby agreed. "I'm Colby Granger. My Dad and yours were brothers."

"Prove it," the girl demanded, still frowning at him.

"Er…," Colby said slowly. "I… don't actually know how?"

The girl just looked at him with narrowed eyes.

"Don't you have some piece of identification?" she asked him.

Colby frowned, but pulled out his army identification and handed it over into her demanding hands.

The girl took it and looked it over like an expert.

"It looks valid," she decided finally.

"How would you know?" Colby asked, interested how the girl had decided on that.

"You're clearly American and this is an American identification. From your posture and your haircut you're definitely army. You've also got a tan-line that indicates that you have been in a very warm climate until recently while wearing clothes that covered most of your body, so definitely not on holiday…"

Colby looked a bit amused at that, then the girl continued.

"Sadly, all that doesn't tell me if you're really related to me or not." She cocked her head, her face thoughtful.

"Ah," another voice suddenly spoke up from behind the girl and Colby's eyes snapped up towards the stranger behind the girl.

Instinctively, Colby reached for his weapon - which he wasn't carrying. Nevertheless, the knowledge that a stranger was standing behind his baby-cousin actually trickered all his protective instincts.

"Take another look at him, Hermione," the stranger added, his eyes fixating on Colby's twitching hand for a second or two before looking him in the face.

The girl meanwhile turned towards the stranger with huge and trusting eyes.

"What should I look for?" She asked, her face open and interested.

"Structures," was the man's calm reply and his sharp eyes looked Colby over assessingly.

Colby straightened.

"And who are you?" he asked challengingly. Obviously, his little cousin knew the man - but that didn't mean that Colby had to trust him.

"Sherlock Holmes," the man replied, his eyes turning towards Hermione. "And you're clearly related to Daddy."

Daddy.

Colby opened his mouth to ask who the man was talking about when Hermione piped up suddenly.

"Oh!" She exclaimed as if she had finally found a missing puzzle piece. "He has the same jawline like Daddy! And while there are differences to his face, there's a 70% of being related if you take his appearance, his bone structure and his overall appearance together."

"More like a 75.6% chance," the other man - Sherlock corrected her.

Colby's baby-cousin just nodded eagerly. She didn't seem to be put out at all by the fact that she had being corrected and not even praised.

"So… he hasn't been lying," she concluded instead.

"If you had looked at his body language then you would have known that from the start," the other man added, his eyes still trained on Colby.

"Well," Colby decided to speak up at that. "If that's the case - will you let me in?"

The man frowned.

"Shouldn't you be at home with your mother?" he countered instead. "You haven't seen her in at least five months so I'm surprised that you came here to an Uncle you haven't seen in years and were never close to instead of to your mother."

Colby frowned.

"I was once close to Uncle Brandton," he corrected the other man. "I might not have come here for the last ten years - but before that I basically lived here for a time."

"Damn," the other man countered, his face contorting to a frown. "It's always something I miss!"

Colby shrugged and then decided to add diplomatically.

"But you had the rest of it right," he countered.

The other man just waved it off and then turned away from the door and left.

Colby's eyes found the ones of his baby-cousin.

"Can I come in?" he asked her.

She shrugged.

"Sure," she said and stepped aside, but before Colby could actually enter, the other man came out again, this time wearing a coat.

"What-?"

"A double murder in a closed room!" The other man replied before Colby could even ask. "I need to go immediately."

Colby gawked at him, watching him pass him and heading towards the train station.

"Hey!" He called after him when the man reached the street. "And what about Hermione?!"

The stranger stopped.

"Ah," he said and then waved it off. "You're there, so she should be safe."

"You don't even know me!" Colby countered immediately.

"American Army Ranger, and you have been at it since you've been eighteen. You're disgustingly honourable and you're so much like Daddy that it hurts to even look at you. I bet you're going to be as disgustingly overprotective of my baby-sister as Daddy is even before I reach the train," Sherlock countered and before Colby could even comprehend what the other man had uttered, he was gone again…

Colby followed the other man with his eyes in disbelief before he turned and looked at his baby-cousin.

"Is he really leaving you with me alone?!" he asked in disbelief.

Hermione shrugged, obviously as unconcerned as Sherlock.

"Sure," she said. "My brother's work is important, after all."

Colby opened his mouth to counter her exclamation, but then closed it again with the mental reminder that his baby-cousin had called the other man 'brother'.

Brother.

Colby turned and looked down the street where the other man had vanished to.

Brother.

That man… Sherlock… was Colby's cousin.

Colby wanted to slam his head against something really, really hard.

Sherlock was his cousin.

He had a mad man as a cousin.

Hermione smiled at him sweetly.

"Come in?" she offered.

"Er… Thank you, I guess," Colby said slowly. "Hermione."

She smiled again and then gestured him in.

"Come in," she said proudly. "I'm sure there's even some birthday cake for you in our fridge."

"Birthday cake?"

Hermione grinned.

"My brother brought it by a few hours ago… actually, it's for later when Mummy and Daddy come home but I don't think they'll mind if we eat a piece now, it's mine after all," she assured him with a smile.

"Oh?" Colby said and followed the girl. "So… you're having a birthday soon?"

"Today," she corrected with a huge smile. "I'm nine now. And I definitely like my present this year."

Colby frowned.

"Well, I don't have a present for you, sorry," he apologized.

She grinned.

"Oh - but you _don't_ need a present for me," she corrected. "You _are_ my present, after all!"

And when Colby gawked, she added happily.

"I've never gotten any cousins from Daddy's side for my birthday until now," she said with glowing eyes. "Only siblings."

"Oh… alright," Colby said, not too sure what to say to that.

"But I already got an aunt on Mummy's side," she assured him as if he could be concerned by her lack of variety in presents.

"Er… alright?"

Hermione just grinned happily.

"And I bet, if I'm good for the whole next year, I might even get another cousin for next birthday - this time maybe even from Mummy's side." She nodded to herself. "There must be some cousins out there as well, don't you think so, too? Mummy has some siblings, after all!"

She looked at him inquiringly and her brown eyes seemed to reach into his chest and take out his heart.

No matter mad adult cousins from the new wife of his uncle - this girl in front of him was something that Colby didn't want to miss from his life.

And maybe, Colby had to say later on, that Sherlock had been right.

Talking to Hermione on his way to the kitchen was all it took.

After that, Colby would forever watch out for Hermione first… or well, as good and as often as he could, considering that he was first in the army and later on an FBI agent in Los Angeles.

xXxXxXxXxXxManipulatorxXxXxXxCheatxXxXxXxXxCheatxXxXxXxXxManipulatorxXxXxXx  
 _I'm sorry that it took me such a long time to update this story. I hope you like it anyway._

 _Ebenbild_


End file.
